The Year of the Curse
by Running Rampant
Summary: By donning an Ancient Egyptian ring, Ryou is cursed by the spirit inside who will grant all of his hearts wishes but kill him after one year. With the clock ticking, Ryou must break the curse before it's too late. But his heart is a mess and he must decide what he truly wants, something which only grows harder with time. Will Ryou survive the year or succumb to the curse? BxR MxM
1. Happy Birthday

**Chapter 1**

Ryou Bakura let his hand wander over the top of an old package, dusty from its time in the attic. He felt the slight contempt rise in him for anything that looked so shabby and old, and especially dusty, neat freak that he was. But he could no more hold onto his abhorrence for the box than he could for what it represented to him now.

Ryou Bakura could have been in every way the average teenager. Eighteen years old, in his first year of university courses, slightly wiry and never overly built in any noticeable way, with a sweet, pale face and a soft British accent, he could have epitomized the everyday coming-of-age adult.

Most noticeably, of course, are the outward appearances, and his were strange. His hair was long, far longer than most boys dared grow their hair, and white as snow. He wondered why he'd never been made fun of so much for that and more for his quiet, awkward personality. But he took what he could get.

Having just started University, many kids coming in were new to being on their own or did not have to be if their family lived in the area, but neither was the case for him. He had been alone for a long time. Too long. And how it had eaten at him over the years.

"Happy birthday," he murmured to himself. Though a happy birthday was the furthest thing from it. This would be his eighth year with no family to speak of.

He ran his finger over the old dusty box, momentarily losing any of his issues with it as he allowed his mind to drift into the nostalgia of happier times.

_His father had been away on a dig site, as per usual. Though Ryou often missed him, he understood, even as a ten year old child, that it was necessary. Money was hard to come by for archaeologists in Japan, therefore he was needed in more ancient historically prominent countries, like Egypt. Ryou knew this, and was saddened by it, naturally. He had various housekeepers to keep him company, but no family. In retrospect, leaving Ryou to himself with no family may have been one of the worst decisions of his fathers' life, but such things cannot be changed. Egypt was his calling, and so he followed it away from his son._

_And Egypt he had been when the site had collapsed on his head, burying himself and various other crew members with him. Ryou found out when he had tried to call one fateful night and was answered by a near-hysterical woman babbling about some nameless excavator or other, likely her husband, that had been buried beneath all the dirt and rock. _

_He met the woman later, along with other family members though Ryou had only met them briefly at the funeral for his father and the other funerals he had attended out of courtesy. They faded out of his life as most did; a blip akin to a stain on his life but washed away and was forgotten quickly and easily. As was the way of a too- young boy who had lost everything but his sanity. Accept and move on. Rinse and repeat._

_ A package had arrived for him but days after his father's funeral. That brown box, not quite so dusty and old all those years ago, sat ominously on his porch with a card attached._

_ A message from beyond the grave that had Ryou reverting back to hysterical tears for days thereafter, not having actually recovered from the loss of his final beloved kin. He was inconsolable and barely understandable. _

_Ryou could not remember much from those days and he found his brain curiously vacant when he would later attempt to recall the next week or more. He thought he remembered sitting on a couch, talking to a professional-looking woman with glasses and too many rings on her finger. He remembered he'd liked to count them in lieu of listening. He remembered flashes of long stretches of roads with desert-like landscapes all around him. He always wondered if that had been a dream though as he had yet to find a place anywhere nearby that resembled the picture in his head. _

_ He did remember when he 'woke up.' He found himself at his dining table, spoon full of soup in hand and a half-eaten bowl beneath him. Chicken noodle, he recalled. He heard one of his babysitters, or whatever they were as it was simply easier to classify them into one big bunch, shuffling around in the cupboards, humming a tune that resembled one his mother used to sing him to sleep with after particularly bad nightmares, though only vaguely. He looked to the right and blinked as the sun shone in his eyes, quickly adjusting to see a nice, if not slightly windy day. A crow was there, in the backyard, hopping around as if it had every right to do so. Ryou didn't really like crows._

_ He set the spoon down and pushed the chair out; only just realising he wasn't very hungry. He wanted to go scare the crow away; it didn't belong in his backyard. He refused to share his home with the homely bird._

_ The babysitter had obviously not expected this of him, as he could tell by the gasp that followed when she realised he was nearly out the door. _

_ He remembered her leading him to the couch instead and talking about silly, non-essential things that he tuned out anyways so there was no way he would remember._

_ He remembered she was on the phone later, talking about how he had moved on his own. How strange, was he not free to make his own decisions anymore? Had he ever indicated he didn't want too?_

_ But for all that, Ryou knew deep down that he was not fully over it yet. There was still one thing that had to be done._

_ That damned box was keeping him from moving on at last. He had gotten past his mother and sisters' deaths, or so he had told himself, and he would get over this too. He only had to face that last solid reminder of his father's presence._

_After he was finally able to look at the box, nearly a month late he forced himself to grasp the edge of it. His shaking little hands had peeled back the top flaps of the box, already so tear stained from previous attempts. _

I'll do it though_, Ryou thought determinedly. He would get through this. Somehow._

_ Though he could feel the tears welling up again, he pushed on through the harsh initial fear and managed to finally open his tormenting gift._

_ Beneath multi-colored tissue paper, likely so abundant to protect whatever lay beneath, Ryou thought he saw a glint of something gold. _

_ Ryou could barely control his shaking limbs, trembling so hard they would often hit the sides of the box and more than once almost knocked it over. He recalled strange hacking sounds coming from somewhere, and only realised after that he must have been having some sort of episode that, had anyone seen, likely would have sent him to even more therapy sessions and cemented his mental instability for years to come._

_ Handy, then, that the housekeeper had been out buying groceries when he'd plucked up what remained of his broken little spirit and tiny courage, overstated in his little-boy mind, to finally carry out a task that he felt he must do. But it was typical for little boys to think they could handle more than they were truly able. _

_ But he wasn't thinking that at the time. It was more of a reflection after the fact. In the moment, all he could think about was carefully and slowly peeling back layers and layers of packing and tissue paper._

_ More gold became evident within the confines of the box, until it lay fully in front of him. _

_ It must have been some rare artifact or other. It was some sort of golden ring, depicting a triangle within the confines of the circle with one all seeing eye glaring at him from its encasement. Strung through the top was some sort of leather bind, as if it was to be worn as a necklace. Clearly added centuries after the initial making as it seemed newer than it should have. Not surprising as such things could not hold as well as gold over time. _

_ Ryou, very carefully, placed a finger onto the cool gold ring, expecting it to have a less than average temperature as it had been sitting out and golf lost heat very quickly. And initially, he was correct. But the gold heated up under his finger and he quickly pulled his hand back, staring terrified at the accusatory, almost mocking eye in the center. _

_ Maybe he wasn't ready after all. _

How many years had it been since then? Eihght, he recalled. Ryou had never dared touch it since. It held so many memories and the innate fear of the unknown.

In retrospect, Ryou knew the gold probably hadn't heated up under his touch. Likely it was just a panicked reaction of his over-active and stressed imagination somehow linking the ring to his father's death. Not the worst of crimes and understandable, if completely irrational.

But he was no longer an irrational child. He was older, wiser, and knew that everything that day had been an overreaction. He comforted himself with the knowledge that he had been justified in overreacting at the time, but no longer.

And yet…

He couldn't quite bring himself to take it into his hands yet. After all the years, the eye was still just as unnerving as it had been back then.

Ryou was spared his over-analytical mindset by a ring at the door.

Unprecedented relief washed over him and he, much too quickly, hurried over to answer it.

Happy for the distraction and secretly, cowardly praying that it would be an elongated one, he opened the door to find his best friend of six years, Malik Ishtar.

"Hey Ryou," he said with a charming smile. Perhaps it went without saying, though. Everything Malik did was fairly charming, whether he meant it to be or not. "Happy birthday!" he said as he surprised Ryou with a tight, breath-taking hug. Literally breath-taking.

"Malik," he choked out, tapping his shoulder.

"Oh right! Sorry," he said, quickly letting go. "I promised to stop doing that, didn't I," he mused, scratching the back of his head sheepishly.

It was no wonder why Malik was so popular with women, and if he was honest, most men. Malik was startlingly good-looking. His tanned skin, deep purple eyes, long blonde hair and exotic build made him mysterious and desirable. He was none too shy with his body either, often resorting to wearing stomach-baring shirts or much too tight pants. But it was one of his charms and he pulled it off nicely.

"Well, come in," Ryou said with a smile, ushering Malik into his apartment.

Of course, the first thing he saw was the very out of place cardboard box in the middle of the living room floor.

He made no comment, though. Ryou tried to face the ring every year so it was hardly a rare occurrence on this particular day.

Malik instead made himself at home in Ryou's kitchen. He held out a box for his dear friend with a cheeky grin.

"I knew you wouldn't bake yourself a cake so I took the liberty of buying you one," he said.

Ryou lit up eagerly. Malik could always be counted on to take care of him in his time of need. Despite having no parents himself, Malik did live with his siblings, an older brother and sister. If Ryou remembered correctly, and he usually did, the brother, Rishid, was not actually Malik's blood. Ryou never did know what happened there as every time it was brought up Malik seemed tense and frightened, paling to almost his own skin color. Ryou knew the value of privacy and a few secrets, so he had never pushed the issue. Should there ever be a time when Malik wanted him to know, he would make it clear. Until then, Ryou was happy avoiding topics that would make his friend so uneasy. Malik easily returned the sentiment.

Usually. That is, unless it was something unavoidably obvious or possibly damaging in some way, shape or form.

Ryou could feel his hands shaking slightly as he tried to cut the cake, still reeling from being so close to finally grabbing hold of that damn piece of jewellery once and for all. And he knew that it would not escape Malik's notice. For all the scorn heaped on blondes for being ditzy or otherwise absent-minded, Malik made up for them a hundredfold each.

"Ryou…" he started, and when he glanced back, Malik was rubbing his temple a bit, as though whatever was coming had been on his mind for a while. "Why do you do this to yourself?"

Ryou swallowed loudly, another thing that Malik would inevitably notice, but had no choice. He couldn't find a sliver of his voice.

"I don't know what you mean," he croaked. But he was such a terrible liar. Why, oh why, had he chosen a best friend who could see through the most conniving fabrications of word-play and falsities while he himself could not lie to a naïve child? A cruel twist of fate, he supposed. Though he would never demean the fate that brought him such an understanding friend, he did consider it cruel how easily his lies were ousted, by both his lacklustre skills and his friends' keen ear and eye.

"God, Ryou," Malik hissed, ruffling the right side of his head, fluffing the already naturally heightened hair even higher, and making him somehow more attractive in a bed-head sort of way. "You can't keep doing this to yourself! Every year it's the same damn thing!" His fist hit the table with more force than necessary and Ryou turned sharply, no longer wishing to have his face read so easily. His voice may give him away, but as long as he didn't look directly at Malik's sharp gaze, perhaps he could be read with less ease.

"It's different," he murmured, failing in another attempt to steady his hand and cut a straight piece of cake. "This year-"

"Is the same as last year!" Malik snapped. "All you're doing is reminding yourself of it. Why can't you just let it go? I know it's killing you to look at it every single time. Throw it out, sell it, put it in storage but stop torturing yourself like this!"

Ryou whirled on him, trembling slightly but refusing to back down. "And what do you know?" he accused. "This is how I get over things!"

"Except you're not," Malik reminded him, obviously frustrated. "It's like a cut. If you keep scratching it, it'll never heal."

"You don't know!" Ryou cried, realising his voice had broken and he was on the verge of tears. "You have no idea what it's like to lose your whole family, one after another. At least you still have some."

"Don't you fucking talk to me about losing family. You have no idea-" he cut himself off abruptly, reigning in his anger. "This isn't why I came over," he sighed, sitting back down. Ryou wondered vaguely how he hadn't noticed he'd even gotten up. Then again, he never was as observant as Malik.

Ryou turned back around and rummaged through cupboards, tiny clinking noises coming from knocking two glasses against each other lightly. It could have been a sonic boom in the dead silence though.

"I'm sorry," Malik said finally, ruffling his hair harder. "I didn't mean for that all to come out. I just hate to see you like this." Ryou glanced back and noticed a very sorrowful expression on his face. He was obviously contrite about the whole ordeal.

"I'm sorry too," Ryou said, offering him a glass of coffee, already knowing that Malik liked it black as a moonless night.

With tiny sprinklings of sugar as stars.

"I know you're just looking out for me. And I appreciate it," he continued, heading back to get two shakily cut pieces of cake.

Malik sipped his coffee slightly as to not burn his tongue and accepted the cake with no hesitation. He obviously noted the less-than professional cutting job, but chose to make no comment. Enough had been said.

"I do worry about you," Malik sighed, digging into the cake somewhat uninterestedly. "All alone all the time. It can't be healthy."

Ryou smiled kindly at him, drinking his own coffee; sort of coffee if you counted basically half-milk half-coffee to share the same name.

"You know," he continued, drumming his fingers lightly. "My offer still stands. Rishid and Isis really wouldn't mind having you around."

Ryou chuckled good-naturedly. A couple months ago, Malik had offered Ryou a place to stay, his own home. Malik had claimed that there was easily enough room for another person in their house and that Ryou's presence would be an easily accepted one, if not completely welcome. Isis had always had a soft spot for the boy, having moved to Japan two years after Ryou's inevitable heartbreak and for what Malik had only ever mentioned as 'personal reasons.' The two had hit it off instantly, Ryou and Malik, and Isis was accustomed to seeing him around the house more often than not. Rishid also seemed to like him, or at least tolerate him. Clearly he wanted the best for Malik and Ryou made him happy. Rishid could not oppose that.

Ryou had chosen to politely decline the offer, saying that he had lived alone so long it hardly mattered anymore. Besides, he was at the age when he was supposed to be alone.

But it hadn't stop Malik from asking numerous times.

"Thanks, but really, I'm okay here," he repeated, a mantra he was becoming accustomed to. "Being in a house full of people would be weird for me now anyways," he shrugged, biting off a piece of the cake and chewing it thoughtfully. Light and fluffy, just how he liked it.

Malik seemed disappointed but resigned. He had known what the answer would be, after all. "Well, my offer doesn't expire, so if you ever need a place to stay…" he trailed off, smiling like his charming self.

"You'll be the first to know," Ryou promised, taking another mouthful of cake.

"You know, everyone's excited for your party this weekend," Malik mused, twirling his own cake piece around so fast Ryou thought it would fly clean off the fork. But Malik was far too smooth an operator to ever let something so mundane happen to him.

"I bet. What else do they have to be excited about? Another year of school?" As was the unfortunate consequence of his birthday. It always fell during the first week of classes.

"Oh, let us have our fun," Malik smirked, nibbling his dessert suggestively. "Or let them eat cake, if you will."

"I don't think you know what that quote means," Ryou sighed. "No one is starving."

"But Ryou," he purred in a sultry voice, the one he always used to tease Ryou with. "I'm starving for you!"

"Knuckle sandwich work for you?" he countered. Malik grinned brightly. His face could light up a whole room if he wished it too. And he obviously did then.

"How about just some sugar?" he suggested, still in that seductive voice. Ryou rolled his eyes at Malik's antics. He was far too used to them by now. It was a shame he had to get used to them at all.

"Oh shut up, Malik," Ryou groaned, making a dismissive hand gesture at him.

"Oh that wasn't sugar," he complained dramatically, clutching his heart and leaning his head back as he placed the back of his other hand on his forehead in a display of pain. "It felt like salt in the poor wounds you created."

"I think you've had enough coffee," Ryou decided, reaching for it, only to be slapped away lightly.

"You're so easy," Malik laughed, proving his dominance over his coffee by downing the rest of it.

"_I'm _easy?" Ryou said skeptically, so many comments running through his mind. "Weren't you the on-"

"Now now, you don't always have to take the bait," Malik tsked. "And I thought you were so above all of these petty arguments," he crooned, poking Ryou's forehead.

"You are such a hassle," Ryou said exasperatedly.

"But such a pretty hassle," Malik reminded him, finishing off his cake. "Another please!"

"You brought it and it's my birthday! Why should I have to?" Ryou asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I'm the guest and I was nice enough to bring it," he countered, lifting an eyebrow at Ryou.

Sighing but ultimately admitting defeat, Ryou went to cut another piece.

"Your chronic niceness will make you a lovely slave one day, cuz nice people don't usually get too far in any other jobs," Malik teased and Ryou could hear the grin in his voice. "Might as well start now. I could use a foot massage."

"I bet you could. Bet you could use a bath too." Ryou walked back over, setting the cake down in front of him. "Eat up, fatty," Ryou said with a secret smirk, knowing it would set him off.

"I am not fat!" he snapped, huffing indignantly but digging into his perfectly cut piece nonetheless.

**XXX**

Ryou stared down the enemy of the evening. As Malik had left roughly a half hour prior, Ryou had had little to do but engage in a staring contest with the golden ring, mocking him from the box.

"I'm so tired of being afraid of you," Ryo said, admitting defeat again with a blink.

This couldn't go on. He couldn't live in the past, tip-toeing around reminders of his family. He still had pictures and other heirlooms from them, so this should be no different. It was just a gift from a father to a son. And he felt guilty, knowing he had waited eight years now to embrace the present.

"I don't have anything to worry about," he told himself, repeating it over and over like a spell to calm his nerves. He was proud that his voice didn't shake, but whatever was saved in that was made up for in the violent trembling of his hands.

_Just bad memories,_ he reminded himself. He had bad memories of many things. He was bullied in school but he kept going. His mother and sister had been killed in a car accident, but he still rode in them. And even though his father had died just before sending it, he would not blame this actually quite extravagant present for it. It was guilty only by association, and that was hardly anything to get worked up over. He was guilty of things by association too.

Mostly Malik's fault, but the point stood.

"I'm an adult now," he told himself. Despite having no one to talk to, even the sound of his voice, a presence even if it was his own, calmed him a bit. "Adult's aren't afraid of things like this."

Realising that he would likely be unable to stop his shaking, no matter his determination, he closed his eyes tightly and plunged his hand into the box. His fingers brushed against a cool surface, contrasting to the packaging around it. He fisted the object in his hand and jerked it out, falling back and onto the ground.

He stared, almost mesmerized, by the golden ring in his hands. Truly it was a beautiful piece of Egyptian artistry. Ancient Egyptian artistry.

He realised his breathing and become erratic and he put effort into slowing the ragged, haggard sounds emitting from his throat.

That… wasn't so bad, he decided after a while. It could have been hours or minutes or seconds, he really didn't know, but a smile crept onto his face. He had finally managed to face that which had tortured him so on this one day of the year.

He played lightly with the expensive ring, running his hand over the surface and that staring eye. It didn't look so intimidating now.

He pulled himself off the floor and walked to the mirror hanging in the hall leading to the living room. Smiling slightly he moved to put it on.

But he suddenly hesitated.

Did the ring feel… warmer, somehow?

It was such a strange feeling, but a deep sense of foreboding flooded his system. An innate sense of danger long abandoned to times when concrete and decent weapons kept predators out. Yes, predators. With a predatory eye so like the one in the center of the ring. Sizing up its victim.

But that was so stupid and childish and he would not back down now! He'd come too far now. He needed this; some sort of closure.

Stomach churning and head spinning and eyes wide with anticipation and unconcealed fear, he roughly slammed the strap around his neck.

It tinkled ever so slightly where the spires hit each other or the ring, having been forced into action from such a violent movement. But nothing else happened.

He hadn't known what he'd been expecting, but it came as a sort of relief. Smiling slightly at his reflection, he looked at the ring in the mirror. It sort of suited him, really. He looked back up to his own eyes to see a peculiar sight.

The eyes staring back at him in the reflection looked just a bit off. It was him, but something was wrong with him. And even as he digested this information, he realised that he was making confused facial expressions.

But his reflection was not.

It, very slowly, started grinning a dark evil grin, eyen narrowing and suddenly, a howling laughter boomed throughout the house.

But their eyes never moved from each other's.

Ryou backed up, hitting the opposite wall and tried to run, but as he turned, he came face to face with the man in the mirror. Him but not.

Ryou screamed and tried to backpedal, but he had lost all feeling in his legs and crumpled to the ground before whatever stood in front of him.

It got down on all fours in front of him and put its face so close, that Ryou was consumed and drowning in blood red eyes, glinting with malicious intent.

"Oh, what have you done, little Ryou," it whispered in a haunting taunt, grinning viciously. "And so it begins."

**XXX**

**AN:** Hey guys, I'm Running Rampant, new to the Yu-Gi-Oh community! This will be my second fanfic so hopefully I can make this good.

This story idea really just popped into my head randomly. I usually think up stories for speific characters and no other characters will ever work in my mind for the story I've set up.

Not much to say yet, I just really hope you enjoyed the first chapter and I look forward to writing more! Please tell me what you think. Reviews always make me write faster you know.


	2. Cursed

**Chapter 2**

_I don't understand._

And wasn't that the understatement of the century. Ryou couldn't comprehend the man before him actually being there. It went beyond all realms of possible and rationality, which is what Ryou was all about. Rational thought and processes, they made things so much easier and so much clearer cut. This was not. This was the polar opposite of what he could cope with.

Because it meant, that when he was ten and young and naïve and without his infused sense of reality, he had been right.

There was something wrong with the ring.

But he understandably chose to ignore his inner-child's smug look. For now, he would assume that a stranger, similar to him in many ways, had somehow broken into his house and he had seen him in the mirror and, in his panic-induced mind, had replaced his own reflection with the strangers, having both within the frame of the mirror but seeing only one that dominated his mind's eye. It was just a trick, maybe even something the intruder had perfected, if he thought about it. Magicians and scammers used mirrors all the time. This could just be another one of those. And they carried similar traits, like the hair and skin tones. A strange coincidence as he knew few people with his particular colouring.

It was so much easier than believing there was something sentient in the ring come for him at last.

"Speechless, I see," the intruder chuckled in such a dark, sadistic burst of sound that Ryou recoiled back as far as he could without actually backing up anymore. His arms were curiously devoid of any resolve to work for him and movement had become somewhat difficult as a result, his legs following the example. "I have that effect."

"How-How did you g-get in here?" Ryou dared to question in a trembling voice that did absolutely nothing to conceal his fear.

The man clearly hadn't expected him to say anything and blinked at him once with a look of surprise. Ryou entertained the idea that such an expression could be the result of a long career and that he may have gone against the grain of what such a man was used to. Pure speculation, but worth considering all the same.

But it was gone as fast as it was there, and had Ryou not had practice at reading facial expressions on Malik, he may not have noticed. Though Malik was still a mystery to him, layered with different personas and acts, this man was not so apt at hiding. But with such an intimidating air about him, he likely didn't need to.

"Why, I came here in a box a decade ago," he smirked, standing up to lord over Ryou physically as well as metaphorically.

_He likes power and to be in control,_ Ryou thought. He was being so obvious about it too. Had he never heard of subtlety? Was there not power in that as well? Perhaps he had never needed to venture out of such blatant intimidation, then.

"I don't th-think I've ever received that big of a package," he managed, surprisingly in a less shaky voice then before. Whatever his fate was to be, it would happen regardless of idle chatter. And yet, his fear of death, innate in all and therefore he did not blame himself, kept him talking, kept his head on his shoulders a little longer. Ryou had talked his way out of many a situation before, and though he sensed a difference in this encounter that could not be ignored, he fell back on what he knew.

Whoever the intruder was, he seemed less than amused at his building bravery. As if to reinforce his dominance over him, the man bent over Ryou and came close enough that their faces were nearly touching.

"Ah, but looks can be deceiving, can't they," he purred, the sadism leaking through every slimy word. At the grin on the stranger's face, a rather amusing mental image appeared in Ryou's mind. It was merely a snippet of his old Christmas-special favourite, The Grinch. Just one little image of his nasty grin and a line of the song playing over and over in his head, though it may have been layered for it could not have been that long, 'termites in your smile.'

He'd always wondered what that would look like.

_Ah, I should stop doing that,_ he thought distantly. _I always try to take myself out of a situation. I probably shouldn't right now._

He nodded in a wooden fashion, not wishing to speak unless he was sure his voice wouldn't waver or it was absolutely necessary. Neither of which was the case. And, lost in his musings as he was, he couldn't quite remember what they had been talking about.

Although, sufficed to say, any type of conversation with a madman in his house claiming to be from a ring he had received ten years ago probably had very little he needed to pay attention to anyways. What more did he really need to know beyond that it _came from an item._

"What's wrong kid?" the man before him asked playfully. Mockingly. "You look like you've seen a ghost." He followed the statement with a bark of laughter, clearly thinking he was much more humorous that Ryou did. So heavily full of himself, so it seemed. The most obvious weakness if there ever was one to be had in people- he used that term lightly, _people_- like him.

"W-What do you w-want?" he asked, mentally berating himself for the weakness. He had always been weak-willed, though. It made him mad, but not enough to actually work to change it.

"A loaded question, that one," the man said, shaking his head in an almost pitying fashion. "Don't know if you wanna start that just yet."

Ryou was now even more confused. Terrified, of course, but confused nonetheless. What the hell did this man want?

"Look, just t-take whatever y-you want, I won't s-stop you, I s-swear," he tried to placate, lifting his hands in a motion of surrender.

The man howled with laughter then, cackling as though the world was burning before his eyes and he was loving every fiery, bloody second of it.

"Oh, I will. Don't worry Ryou, I will," he smirked, alluding Ryou's inspection for answers yet again. "But not yet."

Ryou, against all odds, was growing frustrated and impatient. Of course it was layered with worry, terror and confusion, but it was blossoming within him.

"But _why?"_ he whispered in hushed terror. He hadn't stuttered though, so it was something.

"Not yet, kid. Not yet," he teased, flicking a bang out of Ryou's face. Ryou flinched back from the almost-touch and couldn't help sending a short vindictive glare to whatever this man was. An intruder? A theif? A murderer? A mental patient?

"How about all of the above," he sneered at Ryou.

_I didn't say that out loud. I know I didn't._

"No, but it doesn't matter," he said, reaching to put a hand on Ryou's shoulder in a mockery of a comforting gesture.

"No!" Ryou snapped, slapping away the man's hand before he could touch him. It was an automatic response to the fear and deeper routed issues that subconsciously plagued him. Only Malik ever touched him. Only Malik was allowed to.

"Fine then," he said, frowning at his hand. He was clearly unhappy with the brave move by Ryou, instinctual and automatic or not. "You can call me Bakura."

"That's my name," Ryou said.

"Yes but I like it, so I think I'll keep it."

Ryou gritted his teeth. So much had been taken from him and now his _name_ too?

And he distantly realized that this should be the very last thing on his mind when a raving lunatic, as far as he could tell, was standing in front of him, liable to do anything.

Best to find out how far 'liable' went. He knew that probably wasn't the most logical thing to find out first, or probably the thing he should ask as it may only speed him towards the inevitable 'liable' consequences, but since nothing about this made any god damned sense, and he was not one to swear lightly, he might as well follow the logic of the illogical and ask the least/most logical question, and perhaps find out if Ryou himself could be pushed to 'liable' actions.

"Are you going to kill me?"

The man, 'Bakura' if he suffered through his names' loss to actually identify the man, looked at him strangely, his face losing the menacing, taunting edge that had been present since he himself had. Ryou figure that this was not a good sign.

"Yes," he said flatly, eyes keen on his expression. An attempt that would prove vain as Ryou had now retreated to the deepest, darkest corners of his mind to wait for his death. Maybe it wouldn't even be so bad. Maybe he'd see his family again.

And the admittance had been said quite blandly. Perhaps, then, he had wished for it to be a grand statement, or something more terrifying. Not a simple ask and answer scenario. Score one for Ryou, then.

"Oh," he said.

_I shouldn't be so calm about this._

"No, you shouldn't." Ah, he was doing it again. This 'Bakura' knew what he was thinking. It was freaking him out less and less because apparently he would be dead soon anyways. "Are you in shock?"

"When?" Ryou asked, ignoring him. 'Bakura' seemed thrown by this. Someone such as him probably did not have a lot of experience in being ignored.

"_What?_" he asked in a disbelieving tone. "Not going to beg for your life? Not going to try to get away? Not even going to be _afraid?_"

Ryou blinked at him, with his twitching eye and bared teeth and obviously flustered persona. Apparently he did not like it when someone took an ounce of control away, though Ryou couldn't see how he was really doing that. He had not more control than he did before. What was going on inside this man's head?

"You're asking _me _that?!" he snapped, a furious fire in his eyes.

"Well, no. I never asked. So, when?" Ryou repeated. This only seemed to make it worse. 'Bakura' let out a shriek of aggravation and paced back and forth in the narrow hallway. He seemed undeterred despite the fact that he could take roughly, sometimes not even, two steps before spinning around and repeating the process. Surely he would grow dizzy.

'Bakura' scratched his head ferociously, perhaps too hard as Ryou saw a few white strands of hair fall to the ground. "In a year," he snapped, obviously trying to reign in his temper, or whatever it was.

Ryou faltered slightly, and such a small act of 'Bakura' having the upper hand seemed to lift his spirits somewhat.

"Oh? So confused," he sneered, snapping his teeth in front of Ryou's face and he started and scrambled back a bit. 'Bakura' chuckled lightly. "And I had thought you were _so _into all things occult."

_Occult,_ Ryou thought. _Well, yes._ "How do you know that?"

"Well," he said smugly. "You see I-"

"Would you like coffee?" Ryou interrupted. Ryou understood that there was something so completely wrong with that sentence, but he just couldn't dwell on it at the moment.

'Bakura' eyes were comically close to popping out of his head and Ryou actually had to stop a laugh. Yes, this was so worth it. He may die right this moment but oh that look would send him off with a smile.

"Coffee," 'Bakura' said, eye twitching.

"Yes," Ryou continued because damn it if these were his last moments he would make them memorable. "I had some when Malik came over, though I'm sure you know that," he conceded. "But there's some left and I surely can't drink it all myself."

"Why?" 'Bakura' asked in the same flat tone. It almost didn't sound like a question, more a giving-up of sorts. An acceptance that he may not have the upper hand. How lovely.

"I sense this could be a long story and I'd rather not be sitting in the middle of the hall for it." And, with courage or insanity or a desire to continue what was likely some sort of repressed sadistic humor or maybe, and likely, a compilation of the three, he pushed himself off the floor and brushed past the intruder, the stranger, the name thief 'Bakura,' and walked to the kitchen with steadier poise than that with which he had pulled the ring out of the decade old box.

'Bakura' followed behind him cautiously, as though he feared Ryou could lose his grip on sanity and come at him with a knife like a maniac on acid, which, upon reflection, would have been a logical move. However, Ryou got the feeling that if 'Bakura' believed he would be hurt by Ryou, he would already be on lockdown.

It was an odd sort of interlude at that point. Neither seemed to be willing to break the tense silence; tense likely due in part to their refusal to back down. An anticipation more so than tension, he supposed. A pissing contest, as Malik would say.

Ryou also supposed he was stalling the inevitable. This… 'man' had already mentioned killing him at some point, though to what end and why the wait-time was yet a mystery. And still, he felt that, somewhere deep down, perhaps down in the place that had housed his fear of the ring in the first place, told him with striking vehemence that no good would come of it, despite the inevitability of it all.

And perhaps he had invited a terrible deranged murderer into his kitchen for coffee. But credit where credit was due, 'Bakura' seemed to have a very strong hold on his partly visible madness, though madness of what calibre Ryou could not be sure of.

Ryou had long been fascinated by the many facets of madness; how it could range from suicidal tendencies to undiluted hysteria to a near catatonic state. Controlled insanity was something he had heard only the cleverest murderers employed, and if that were the case, certainly he was in a tight situation then.

Perhaps his own light-hearted acceptance of the situation left his own mind in a puzzled insanity as well, and perhaps that was why he was so fascinated with it.

But then, he was also fascinated with the occult, which 'Bakura' had made mention of. And if he was, in fact, such a devoted lover of occult and the like, then would not 'Bakura's' appearance before him be something of wonder or even a joyous occasion? The occult had some grounds in reality and was no longer merely a dream. But perhaps that was what Ryou liked about it, the unreality of it. If it existed, was some of what had fascinated Ryou about it gone? He had never been one for fluffy, enchanted fantasies. Perhaps the occult was an escape of a different sort, much more dark and gothic than other themes of fantasy. Yet, even if 'Bakura' himself was not a creature of occultist fantasy, he seemed to possess some powers therein. Indeed, 'Bakura' seemed to possess knowledge of Ryou that he believed even Malik, his most trusted friend, would have trouble calling upon, should it even be present in his layered psychosis.

'Bakura' knew, though. Knew his every whim and flittering though. It was unsettling.

And yet-

"Stop it!" 'Bakura' snapped from his spot, seated comfortable in one of his dining room chairs, the one against the wall. The chair was leaned back to rest upon it and Ryou wondered if there would be a chip in the paint from it. He hoped not. Matching paint colors had never been his precise forte. More Malik's thing than his. Perhaps Malik would be willing to help him. But then, he would have to explain all this to Malik as Ryou would never, of his own will, scratch the paint.

"I have never heard anyone think so many different things at the same time and still have no clue about anything!" 'Bakura' was nice enough to snap at him.

Ryou's eyebrows furrowed a bit. Well, no time like the present to attempt to get a clue, then. 'Bakura' was right, after all. What was the point of thinking so much when none of it was relevant or could even help him?

"How do you know what I'm thinking?" Ryou asked. There were more than enough questions he could have addressed, but he really didn't like people poking around in his head.

Somehow, this encounter was only serving to further confuse him on his friendship with Malik. Malik's insight had always impressed and, if he was being honest, scared him.

"Private person, huh? I see where your priorities are," 'Bakura' answered cryptically.

"That wasn't really an answer."

"And that wasn't really what you wanted to ask," 'Bakura' countered.

Ryou flittered his eyes over to his impromptu houseguest and back to his cup of coffee, adding a third spoonful of sugar. "Why don't you just ask and answer the questions then? Wouldn't it be easier?"

"Easier, yes," he conceded. "But never as fun."

Ryou decided he didn't really want to know what his idea of 'fun' was.

"Liar," 'Bakura' sniggered.

Clearly, 'Bakura' would not answer until he saw the question as appropriate.

"No, just the one you want to ask the most."

Ryou's eyebrows furrowed. What did he want to ask the most? What was most important to him at this moment?

"What is most important to you in general?"

In general? Well, that was sort of a difficult question. Much different.

In general, he supposed the well-being of himself and those he cared about was most important. As 'Bakura' did not hasten to contradict him, he assumed he was on the right path.

"You're learning."

So, was his well-being in danger? Well, there was a possible murderer with him, already admitting to the eventual act of killing him. But that didn't exactly affect his well-being right that second. Even if this man was insane, which was likely, he had said he would kill him in a year, and seemed at least to proud to go back on his word. Why even say such a thing if it were not the truth? It would be pointless, and 'Bakura' did not strike him as one to go about making up such falsities with no purpose. The only purpose he could have had was to trick him and then kill him, which had been voided due to the fact he lived now when 'Bakura' clearly possessed the capacity to kill him at any time, and with no witnesses.

His physical well-being, then, was fine.

What of his mental well-being?

Well, as he was talking to a possibly deranged man who could read his thoughts, there was a possibility that this was actually all going on in his head. 'Bakura' could be nothing more than a fictitious character dreamed up by his subconscious for reasons he could not understand, or possibly as a coping mechanism after his family's death delayed but constantly there and growing, but then really who could understand their subconscious. Ryou could even believe, if believing was possible in an insane state when what you believed became reality and had no grounds in actual belief any longer but dreamed-up proof, that 'Bakura' was a suicidal tendency harbored deep within him to mask the suicidal tendency itself, allowing him a secret wish to rejoin his family in death without the moral reprehension he would heap on himself by inevitable doing himself in, leaving responsibility for his death out of his hands and meaning that he would not be the cause of the suffering his death would bring to the people who cared for him. However, even if this was all an elaborate hoax playing out in front of him like a movie in his mind, it mattered little. Whether this was real or not, it would regardless have an effect on him, as he had already felt 'Bakura' physically and the fear he generated. Even if it wasn't real, 'Bakura' could still hurt him and affect his actions thereafter, be it in his mind or not. Besides, 'Bakura' probably would not answer questions that went against his actual existence anyways, and Ryou would not be questioning his existence at all; it defeated the point of the ruse his mind wanted to execute.

His mental well-being, then, was irrelevant.

His emotional well-being was another thing entirely.

While he could agonize over and analyze his physical and mental states to death, it wasn't possible to do that with his emotions. Emotions went against the grain of interpretation. He felt what he did because he did, and for no other reason. Well, a few other reasons. With all of his family dying in horrible accidents and a pervasive feeling of loneliness constant within him, he was an emotional wreck, despite what he projected in public. Hell, even in private. His emotions could even affect his mental and physical well-beings on some level, and as his emotional state constantly straddled the precipice of borderline functional and frenzied insanity.

Even without 'Bakura,' his emotional well-being was not fine. It had not been fine for a very long time. And now, it was also very relevant, as this could be the final push that could have him curling up in a padded room in a strait jacket.

Perhaps his greatest saving grace was his belief in something otherworldly, his fascination with the occult. Often emotions were a large part of occult lore, or at least so the stories went. Spirits and demons and curses and things not of this world excited and enthralled him and he often lived vicariously through the stories of people encountering such beings. These beings often played off of or preyed on emotion from the unlucky person encountering them. All of this pointed to this being an emotional issue more than anything for Ryou.

To maintain the façade that he was fine, he needed all three states to be at the very least manageable. While physical and mental were, emotional was not.

Therein would lay the question he needed answered then.

The physical question would be, 'how.' How was he going to kill him if he stayed with him a year and was obviously of some supernatural origin? He could prepare. But that wasn't the right question.

The mental question would be, 'why.' Why kill him at all, much less in a year? It was incomprehensible and it seemed to be random, or following a pattern he could not ascertain as of yet. But that wasn't the right question either.

"If you are some creature from the ring, then what are you? And what is in store for me?" If this was some sort of predetermined supernatural thing, then there was always more to it than just death. Usually, people would say it was never black and white, but this wasn't the case. Likely, it was black and white. He'd just only so far seen the black. If there was some happiness to be salvaged here, he needed to hear it. And he needed to know if 'Bakura' was occult, and therefore an emotional issue for him.

'Bakura regarded him for a moment before nodding and easing back into the chair, feet up on the table to Ryou's sudden irritation. "You're slow and you overthink things, but I guess if it works for you," he shrugged.

Ryou frowned but waited for any further explanation.

"What do you think I am?" he asked. Ryou felt cheated somehow. Would he ever get his questions answered?

"I think you're some sort of demon with a mandate," he admitted.

'Bakura' grinned, then huffed in a frustrated way.

"Stop accenting my name like that. You'll have to get used to it," he warned. Ryou pursed his lips. 'Bakura'-

"Stop it."

Fine then. Bakura-_happy?_- certainly could be unreasonable.

Bakura hummed. "Much better. Can I have that coffee?" he asked, gesturing lazily to the cup in Ryou's hand. The one not quarter coffee three quarters milk/sugar.

Ryou hesitantly put it in front of him and sat staring at Bakura, waiting for an explanation.

"For someone who demands I only ask the right question, you sure ask a lot of your own," Ryou remarked, sipping his coffee but never taking his eyes off Bakura. Never knew what the demon would do.

"Let's curb that misnomer, shall we?" he said, smirking. "I'm not a demon, per say. I'm a curse."

Ryou's eyebrows lifted. "What's the difference?"

Bakura frowned and his eyes directed themselves to his coffee. "Demons have free reign, they do what they like. Curses don't."

"Oh," Ryou said, running his finger over the rim of his cup lightly. "How did you become a curse?"

"I was a thief many years ago, ancient times ago in this age. I stole from a particularly powerful immortal and my spirit was placed inside the ring."

"Immortal?" Ryou asked, intrigued.

"I suppose you would say "God," but they've had many names. Celestial beings, I suppose. Live in an ethereal world for all eternity, judging us and so forth.

"Anyways, my spirit was forced into the ring with a charge; I am to kill all who possess the ring after one year, but until then, grant all of their heart's wishes."

"But I don't possess it," Ryou frowned. "I just touched it."

"You put it on," Bakura corrected indignantly. "You claimed it in that way. You possess it, I know you do, or I wouldn't be here talking to you."

Ryou swallowed thickly, the full force of it sinking in. Because this wasn't just something he could talk his way out of anymore. "So… So you're going to kill me in one year." It wasn't a question, really, but Bakura answered anyways.

"Well, me or some other unexplainable force. Either way, your days are numbered." He let out a shout of maniacal laughter and Ryou gripped his cup tightly, face covered by his bangs but it took no genius to realise that Ryou was wide eyed and terrified.

"Until then," Bakura continued, normal manner returning. "I grant whatever wish you desire, though I can choose which to grant and you don't really get to control it."

Ryou was startled out of his haze of fear for a moment. What did that mean?

"Look, it's like this," Bakura said exasperatedly, like he'd explained it a million times. Hell, he probably had. "Everyone has wishes and wants that they'd never say out loud. Selfish or dangerous, whatever. So, say you really hated someone, they gave you a hard time, and you secretly wished them dead, well I could take that as a heart's wish and kill them! But I don't have to. I can grant whichever wish I want in any way I want as long as it is one of your desires. Get it?"

"No limits?" he whispered, shaking now.

"Well," Bakura sighed. "A few. I can't bring people back from the dead. Too obvious, dead people walking around all over the place. And I can't release you from the curse, not that I would anyways.

"Other than that, I'll let you know if something comes up."

Ryou stood, the chair falling back with the force. Bakura had not noticed the growing rage inside of him, or he had chosen to ignore it.

"Then what good are you!" he snapped, tears leaking from his eyes slightly. "You're going to kill me in a year and you can grant wishes but all I wish for is my family back and _you can't even do that_!"

Ryou ran, just ran. Out of the kitchen, out of the apartment, out of the complex, he just ran. Ran anywhere but there. Everything was a blur, hazy and unfocussed. Why him? Why was this happening?!

_I don't want to die, _he thought, terrified. _I don't want to die!_

**XXX**

**AN:** Hello everybody! Well isn't that just fun?

Ok so the curse thing is a bit underexplained, if that's a word, right now, but you'll see it in action soon.

I'm also going to add Malik as kind of an important character, and he gets his own issues later! Ah, how cruel I am to my characters.

Not a ton to say right now, but hey, another chapter out right? Anyways, please read and review and thank you so much to those who already did.

Oh, and I don't own Yugioh or any of the affiliated characters. Just the story idea.

Thanks for reading and hope to be seeing/hearing from you all next time!


	3. Spirits Within

**Chapter 3**

Ryou stared at the crispy orange leaf in front of him. The season was changing, of course. It was September after all. It was his _birthday._ Fall was coming fast, shaking off the remains of summer. He'd even had to start wearing a light jacket to accommodate the weather. Then again, he'd never handled the cold well.

_Next year,_ he thought, eyes staring transfixed at the leaf, _at about this time, will it be the same?_ He wondered how much he'd notice in the end. Would he pay more attention to the seasons' changing? Or would he be at home, crying alone until he died.

It wasn't as though he was special really. Just another person. Like anyone else. Nobody around him knew that anything had changed, nobody around him knew he was destined to die in a year. One year. It had never seemed like such a short amount of time before then.

_Just another leaf, among a million more,_ he thought morbidly. He continued walking, bypassing the leaf itself to let it live its' life a little longer.

_But then, a fallen leaf is already dead, isn't it,_ he thought, glancing back briefly. He watched another person, one talking on his cell phone, seeming eager to speak with whoever he was, not even think twice, not even once, as he stepped on the leaf.

Ryou felt inexplicable rage bubble up in him. It was irrational, yes, but that leaf hadn't hurt him. Not at all. He had stepped on it because it was in his way. Did that make it okay? Just because it was in the wrong place at the wrong time, it had to die? Everything deserved a chance, right? Was it so useless, such a spec of nothing on the man's life, that stepping on it made it okay?

_It doesn't matter,_ he thought, watching the bits of crumpled leaf flutter away in the breeze. _It was already dead._

His eyes flashed to what he assumed everyone saw as empty space. _I suppose I'll be stepped on soon, too._

"Is that really how you want to go?" asked a ghostly figure hovering near him. "Stepped on? I'd need a pretty big boot," he mused, tapping his chin. Could he even really tap it if he was a ghost? Could ghosts touch their ghostly selves in the same way corporeal things could touch other corporeal things? Was it a ruse? Some habit from his human days? "I sense I'm gonna have a lot of headaches this year."

Ryou felt somehow completely ticked off by that comment. "Oh, of course, my most _sincere_ apologies for inconveniencing you."

Bakura rolled his eyes but otherwise said nothing.

"I wish you'd go away," Ryou snapped, walking at a brisk pace away from the current drain on his life. In the most literal sense.

"Don't think so, kid. I've got to make sure nothing happens to you. Wouldn't want you beaten and left for dead without me there to help, would you?"

"Is that how you're going to kill me?" he asked dully. He vaguely wondered if he'd entered a state of shock. Should he go to the hospital for that? Ah, well, that wouldn't really help anyways. He couldn't very well tell them that he would die in a year due to supernatural causes. He wondered if his death would even be investigated enough to be pronounced suspicious. Probably not, Bakura seemed to run a clean show. Clean only in metaphorical terms pertaining to this particular context. In no other did Ryou assume him clean.

"Hard to say," Bakura shrugged. "Different for every person."

Ryou expected nothing less that cryptic bullshit answers anyways, so he wasn't really disappointed with it.

"Even if I wish my hardest, you won't go away?" Ryou attempted though only weakly. He'd never really had reason to assume that his life was inevitable, that he had no say in the direction his life, or in this case death, would take. Now that he knew, it all seemed so pointless. Even this little argument seemed pathetic in the wake of what was to come. Why argue at all when the outcome would remain the same regardless of petty choices along the way?

When he was younger, about a year after his father had died, he had been playing card games in class with his friend, Yugi. A friend then who was a friend still. Yugi seemed to have parental issues of his own, as well as his own fascination with death though severely understated in comparison with Ryou, and had asked him a question that seemed to come up at least once in everyone's lives.

"_If you could see how and when you're gonna die, would you?" _

Ryou had thought about it, at the time all for stalling as he was losing the card game (nothing new, Yugi was famous for his unbeatable track record in all things game), so he thought about it. At the time, he'd said yes. After all, in the case of his family, he could have prevented it.

Yugi said that wasn't the point, and that no matter what you couldn't stop it. Would he still want to know?

He'd still said yes, claiming that he would make the most of the time left to him.

Now, he realised that maybe that was wrong. It certainly didn't feel liberating to know when he would die. Instead, it felt so numb. It gave a pointlessness to everything he did. There was no other outcome but one. An unfavorable one. A dark one. Just one.

But it seemed that was always the outcome. No one really escaped death. Did that mean that all life was pointless? If you died in a year or a hundred, what was the difference? You still _died_ in the end.

He wondered why he hadn't thought about this before. He had been around death all his life. Surely he should have put more thought into such a prevalent topic. Maybe he'd be less confused now.

"No. I'm gonna stick around. I don't have to do everything you say."

Ryou blinked, startled out of his thoughts. But then, that was probably Bakura's intent.

"Do what you want then," Ryou said, shoulders hunching as he trudged away, feeling a bit more lost then even before.

"As if I need your permission," Bakura sneered.

Ryou noticed a couple people looking at him funny. He sighed as he realised this would likely happen a lot.

"Oh not necessarily," Bakura shrugged. "It's not as if I can't read your mind."

Ryou hadn't really thought about that. Perhaps the mind reading thing could come in handy, if he only knew how to block him out of some thoughts. Bakura didn't need to know _everything _about him, did he?

"Yes and no," he said. "The more I know, the easier to grant your wishes, but I guess I don't have to."

Ryou looked over at Bakura, probably looking like an idiot to anyone else, staring hopefully into space like something was there. He wondered if he could use that as a wish. Could Bakura put up some sort of mental block?

"I don't want to," he said sharply, smirking at Ryou.

Ryou felt so crestfallen. But then again, he was going to die in a year anyways. Maybe it didn't matter if all his secrets were revealed to one person, and a person that couldn't tell anyone to boot.

_Still, shouldn't he be making my life easier before I die? It's his fault I'm going to._

Ryou heard Bakura grumble and give a heavy sigh. "Whatever," he growled. The Ring around his neck (he chose to classify it as an entity unto itself and therefore worthy of a capitalized title) heated and flashed once, as though he had turned at an angle that the sun had hit it. It quieted quickly and left Ryou wondering what the hell had happened.

"You wanted a mental block, fine then. You'll have to learn how to control it though." Bakura snapped his sharp, menacing gaze onto him. "You will be able to filter your thoughts through to me, but you will have to practice with it. Think of it like a muscle that needs to be exercised to grow stronger. Although," he drawled with a conniving smirk. "Looking at your muscles, that may not be the best comparison for you to comprehend."

Ryou sputtered and glared heatedly at Bakura, which only resulted in the spirit throwing his head back and cackling.

Ryou had never really paid much attention before, but the spirit looked an awful lot like him. Certainly he seemed more, how should he put this, angular than himself, his stature was more defined, muscles more prominent and even a bit taller. Even his eyes came to sharp points, taking away the soft, somewhat innocent visage of Ryou. His teeth were sharper to, he noted as the spirit howled in laughter. His eyes, though, were the most obvious difference. They were tinged in red, and not just a spec or fleck or a ring around the edges. No, the red seemed to bleed into the coloring of his eyes flawlessly, giving them a sinister look. Ryou never looked sinister.

Regardless, he could not but see the similarities between the two of them. As though he had been demonized.

"When you're done checking me out," Bakura drawled with a lazy smirk. To Ryou's utter horror, a blush crept onto his face.

"I-I wasn't!" he snapped, but cursed himself for stuttering. It hardly sounded plausible when he did _that._ "I was just wondering why you looked so much like me," he recovered.

Bakura raised an eyebrow in what Ryou assumed was disbelief but said no more on it. "I see," he said, clearly unconvinced. "Well, I look like you because I have taken on the role as your "dark side," as it were."

Ryou gave him a flat stare. "What, like Sith Lord Dark side?"

Bakura barked one, harsh laugh. "Like I haven't heard that one before. No," he said, walking (floating?) on, leaving Ryou scrambling to keep up. Oh what a fool he must have looked. "The Ring belongs to you, and therefore, to some extent, so do I." He looked so sour saying it and Ryou was only more certain that this man-spirit-what have you didn't like not being in control of his own life, and those around him. "So, I take on your appearance and act as a "dark side." A dark side in that I fulfill all your deepest, darkest wishes, whatever they may be. You, in turn, are the "light side," or the side presented to everyone else, hiding away all the lingering darkness in your heart." His voice had grown intense and mysterious, dark as what he claimed he was. "Dark serving light and all its' wishes before the darkness envelops the light forever." His voice was a whispered husk, spoken directly into Ryou's ear, but he wasn't as terrified as he should have been. Perhaps it was the dark tone that reminded him of the occult he embraced so easily, or a darkness enveloping him but in comforting blackness instead of dreaded darkness, or the seal of the promise in his words that spoke volumes more than Ryou could hear. Whatever the case, he was rooted to the spot. "You are my light, my "hikari," Ryou, and I am your "yami," and I shall serve you until the darkness I encompass devours you whole."

Ryou blew out a breath he hadn't noticed he'd been holding and opened his eyes which he hadn't noticed closing. 'Devours' sounded so dark and sinister, and yet so promising in its' hidden tones. What sort of trick was Bakura playing?

"One as old as time," he purred, his ghostly lips, so vivid and corporeal to him, brushing his ear gently. "The one that allows you to embrace the dark." Ryou's eyes were at half-mast now, his legs weak and his body tingling. He didn't, couldn't know what he wanted. Only that he wanted something and oh so terribly. "To embrace _me._"

"I-I don't want to-"

"But you do," Bakura interrupted, superiorly amused tone still playing darkly in his mind, his lips forming words around his ear. "I know you already, Ryou. I see everything in your heart." His finger trailed down Ryou's chest, tracing little swirls on the shirt covering the skin over his rapidly beating heart. "What sort of curse would I be if I couldn't fulfill your wishes, the wishes you keep hidden down there. Hidden from even yourself."  
"I'm not hiding anything, especially not from myself," Ryou countered, though the defence was weak at best. He could not garner the steely edge in his voice he needed to make his claim viable.

"Oh, but you are, little hikari," he purred, his fingers adding pressure, not painful but no longer light. "You don't even know how much you are fascinated by me, by darkness in general. You long to be a part of it. A part of me." He lifted his hand to Ryou's chin, turning his head towards the spirit, this curse on his life. "You don't want me to stop. You want to know darkness. It is too enthralling for you to wish me gone."

"Mommy, what's wrong with that boy?"

Ryou snapped his head away, eyes wide and breath coming heavy and hard.

"Nothing, dear. Come along, don't make eye contact."

Ryou silently thanked the boy, saving him from the trance Bakura had put him under.

"Trance? Hardly," Bakura snorted, though it sounded skewered. The haughty attitude held hints of annoyance beneath it. "That, little Ryou, was seduction."

Ryou whipped his head around to glare at Bakura. He was not attracted to it at all, so seduction would never work.

"'It' am I now," Bakura mocked, raising an eyebrow at him. "Don't I even get to be 'him,' or 'my sexy god,' or something."

"Shut up," Ryou said quietly, trying to avoid looking at any of the people around him. He must have looked like a complete _idiot,_ standing around and gawking and panting at nothing.

"Don't forget talking to yourself," Bakura said, having been ticking fingers off at Ryou's internal fury. "That must count for something. Might want to be careful though. You wouldn't want to end up in a mental home for your last year, would you?"

Ryou glared at him heatedly. Bakura would have to get him out anyways. Wasn't that his job?

"Well don't get yourself into trouble and you make my job a whole lot easier."

_I think the whole 'not getting in trouble' thing is out the window already._

"Fine, _more _trouble," he corrected.

Ryou sighed. He really shouldn't be getting used to talking to an evil cursed demon in his head.

"Just curse," he corrected. "If I was actually a demon, I wouldn't be trailing after you, granting wishes and making my superior wordplay known." He smirked slightly. "Or seducing you so easily. Although, actually, I might be."

Ryou scowled, attempting to hide the blush but that was beside the point. He would not get caught up in Bakura's spell again. That he would be sure of. He stormed off down the little path that wound through the park, heading home. Then he would consult his laptop and hope to god that somewhere on there was some note of a curse that followed you around and tried to seduce you and how to get rid of it.

"Wishful thinking, hikari," Bakura chuckled.

Ryou's eyes flashed to him, the strongest glare he could muster on his face. _All of it is wishful thinking to you._

Bakura tapped his chin with a contemplative look. "Clever," he conceded.

Ryou walked as fast as he could without looking, well, more the fool, although he suspected he still managed to look somewhat odd. With his eyes down, he was startled when a leaf hit the left side of his face. Pausing in surprise, he plucked the leaf off his face and inspected it. It looked strangely similar to the leaf he'd been inspecting earlier. To similar to be a coincidence. The veins were the same, the coloring, growing slightly more red towards the base of the leaf, the same, and the little bit already chipped off was the same. Ryou peeked up at Bakura to find him staring idly at nothing. Almost calculated in the idleness though.

Shrugging, Ryou spun the stem of the leaf between his thumb and forefinger. He eventually decided to take it home with him and press it. Maybe it would be a reminder of his time, something to keep him motivated.

Or maybe he was going insane.

Whatever the case, though, he kept the leaf, spinning it thoughtfully all the way home.

**XXX**

Malik huffed as he sat back in his desk chair. Despite the desk in his room being out of date and a bit dented from frustrating nights gone by, Malik liked his little corner-of-the-room study, if one stretched so far as to call it that. And he did.

The house he and his siblings lived in was humble but homey and he liked it well enough that it kept him from complaining. Too much, at least.

It was a high step up from his previous living conditions, that was for sure.

Ah, but he didn't allow himself to be caught up in thoughts of the past. He had time enough to brood and had spent many an hour hanging off the memories of days he'd left behind. He was better now. They all were.

Besides, if he wanted to worry on something, it may as well have been something relevant. Ryou, for instance.

Malik rested his chin on his hand, idly tapping his chin with his pointer finger with his eyes gazed unseeing at the window. Ryou had regaled him with his heart-breaking tale a year after they had met. Since Malik had arrived shortly after the beginning of the school year, early November, he had not been privy to Ryou's annual struggle of facing down the box. He knew the next year though, when Ryou had turned fourteen. He had come to wish his best friend a very happy birthday, laden with presents and smiles, and had found Ryou trembling like a leaf in a tornado on the floor next to a box of, at the time, unknown origin or contents. Malik was a bit disturbed at his wide, dead eyed expression, tears streaming down his face in a constant line.

Rushing to his friend, collapsing in on himself or so it seemed to Malik, he picked Ryou off the floor, his body dead weight against his own. Nevertheless, Malik was no weakling and easily carried the shaking mass of boy he somewhat associated with Ryou into the kitchen where he sat for over an hour trying to revive him from his stupor.

Such a tale of woe on Ryou's part had stuck with him and Malik found the memory quite vivid despite the years separating it. He blew a bang out of his face and turned back to his laptop. He didn't know why he thought homework would distract him. Usually he distracted himself from it with any other idle thought. Clearly he was growing desperate.

A chill swept through him suddenly and his fingers froze over the keyboard. He stared hard at the screen. Despite the screen being a white draft in his essay, he managed to make out reflections in the surface. Two.

"I thought Isis set up new wards against you," he said in a deadly calm voice, one he had perfected throughout the years. Too many times had he been shaky and frightened in its' presence. But no longer. "Couldn't have been more than a week ago."

"Ah yes, those. Trifling things, really. I think she's losing her touch," it mocked, grin spreading wide across its' face. Malik thought at least. It was hard to tell in the laptop's reflection.

"She probably just put them up as temporary barricades. Thought you wouldn't get through in a week. She's probably searching up new ones as we speak." Malik pulled open a drawer and shifted through papers until he found a small, battered book.

"Then she's underestimating me. Pretty dangerous, don't you think?" Malik distinctly saw it stick its' tongue out at him.

He took the book from the drawer and flicked through yellowing, stained pages, indicative of the poor thing's age. All the writing was in an ancient Egyptian language that Malik doubted more than a handful of people could read anymore. The scrawling was old and worn but still legible.

"Must you always attempt to exorcise me from your presence?" it asked with an evident sigh in its voice.

"I'm thinking prism of fire today. That one kept you away for a while last time," Malik said mostly to himself, trailing his finger down one page. "Kept it contained too."

It barked out a laugh of pure malicious delight. "Oh I bet Isis loved it when you drove me out with that Trial of Ice one. Didn't expect the results did you?"

Malik frowned heavily. He'd been forced to sleep on the couch while Rishid attempted to defrost his room for three days. In July.

"They never do work the same a second time, do they," he murmured, again mostly to himself.

"Of course not! I always strengthen my defences and am prepared for it. I'm quite the adapter," it stated proudly.

"Like a disease," Malik said, taking an ornate and intricately carved silver dagger beside him and twirling it haphazardly in his left hand.

"Ah, but is love not the strongest of diseases?" it purred in his ear, having moved closer.

He slashed the dagger to where the face should have been but only hit air. It was quick, for sure. Malik maintained his deadly calm as he turned.

"What do you want this time, Demon?" he asked with noticeable exasperation.

The creature before him stood, proudly donning his own appearance. Or at least a variation of it. Dead, pupil-less violet eyes stared hauntingly at him beneath a fringe of blonde bangs dropping around its' face, staggered in contrast to his wildly spiked hair. Its' startling features were accented and made menacing more so by its' wide, Cheshire cat-like grin and too sharp teeth.

"Why am I always 'Demon?' I told you my name is Marik, because it sounds like yours!" Its' grin somehow widened and the unnaturally long tongue snuck out between the razor edges of its' teeth.

Malik glowered at him. "Leave or I will exorcise you again. Just leave me the fuck alone! Why can't you do that?" Malik's teeth were clenched and his eyes shut in intolerable pain and hatred for the being before him.

The Demon, Marik, sighed disappointedly before coming over to him again, crouching down before Malik so as to enter his field of vision. "You used to like me, remember? When you were a kid. We'd always play together. I promised to protect you. We pinky promised, don't you remember?"

"_I'm so scared Marik. I don't know what to do. I don't want to!"_

_A comforting hand was placed on his shoulder as the boy before him, the same age as he was, smiled softly and pulled him into a warm embrace. Malik felt soothing hands run up and down his back as Marik hushed him._

"_You don't have to worry about anything. I'll protect you." Marik pulled away, still grasping Malik's shoulders and giving him an encouraging grin._

"_Promise?" Malik asked, looking at him pleadingly with teary eyes._

"_I promise," he reiterated, patting Malik's head._

_Malik shuffled a bit before holding out his hand, pinky extended._

"_Pinky promise?"_

_Marik looked at the offered appendage oddly. "What's the difference?" he asked._

_Malik huffed and looked at him petulantly. "It's an extra special promise!" _

_Marik laughed. "9 year olds," he sighed. "Okay, I extra special pinky promise," he said grasping Malik's pinky with his own. Malik smiled at him with a wide, elated grin before taking his hand and running down the hall in search of adventure and fun with his protector._

"I don't care. Get out!" he screamed.

The door burst open and Isis came running in, hands already positioned at her necklace. Isis needed no spell or book to assist her, her own knowledge was enough. She quickly chanted many low spoken ancient Egyptian words in quick succession before the necklace began to glow and Marik howled in pain.

"Stupid witch! Fine!" Marik turned back to Malik with a longing, desperate look in his eyes. "Fear not, dear Malik, for no spell can keep me away from you forever. No charm is too great and no ward is so strong that I cannot overcome it to see you again! I have always loved you and I always will!" His smile retuned in manic full force. "Sleep well, my love, for I am never too far from your side!" With a burst of dark energy and smoke, he was gone, leaving Malik wide eyed and teeth clenching to the point of nearly chipping one. Isis glared at the spot where a small but dark burn mark scarred the carpet. Despite the strength of the necklace, Marik was too fast to be completely exorcized. Maybe one day when they had the proper means to trap him, but not then.

Isis looked up at him and Malik noticed the beads of sweat running down her forehead and neck. No power went without consequence. She became a bit teary eyed as she stared at her traumatized baby brother.

"Oh Malik, I'm so sorry!" Isis cried as she rushed over to him, pulling him into a hug. "I just got home and I heard you yelling. When I saw the wards were broken I-" she stopped and hugged her brother tighter to her. "Forgive me, Malik. I will do better next time."

"It's okay Isis," he said in a shaky voice, giving up his brave pretense with the Demon gone. "You shouldn't have done that," he said, looking at her worriedly. Isis was very gifted in the powers of exorcism. She could fend off the strongest of Demons with her affinity for it and the powerful item, a mystic item that was very choosy about its wielder, the Millennium Necklace. But every one of the millennium items had a power and a price

There were seven Millennium Items, each with their own purpose and function. The necklace would grant you sight and access to the spiritual world with the power to see and speak with and kill the dwellers, but cursed you to shorten your life each time it was used. The scales would judge a soul but curse your own to grow darker each time used. The eye could see into the minds of others but curse you with otherwise blindness. The key would lead you to your greatest desires but curse you with twisted finds. The ring would grant all of your deepest wishes, but curse you to death after a year. The rod would control the masses but curse you by taking away those you truly cared for. The puzzle would grant you an eternal protector and friend and was alone the only item without a curse upon it.

Each item had its' own criteria for users. Items like the necklace and eye were permanent to a single user until death. Items like the ring and key moved from person to person without discretion. The scales, rod and puzzle could change hands but would not work for everyone and were each more particular than the one before.

Each item also possessed a spirit within to judge the people they were given to. Isis' necklace had contained a helper, a kind soul who only desired to see Isis and Malik do the best in life.

Rishid.

This was not the case with all of the items though.

Malik possessed an item as well, the rod. His spirit had been Marik, and though he had only held it and used it only once, Marik nonetheless persisted with him as he was still the owner of it and Marik had sworn he would never take another host.

Why had he ever touched the damn rod? He just had to know, to try. He was just a curious child. And though he had never used the rod since and therefore only once had he reaped the benefits and the repercussions of it, he had garnered a friend turned foe in the form of the Demon keeper of the rod, Marik.

But it wasn't important then.

"You shouldn't be using that stupid thing," Malik growled, glaring at the necklace hanging innocently from her neck.

She smiled at him softly and smoothed his hair soothingly. "I have plenty of life left, dear brother, and I have no intention of letting that creature return to you when-" she paused but sighed. "Well, when you would have to bleed to activate any other spell. Besides, he could have easily stopped you. He's too quick."

"This isn't a good alternative," Malik said, touching the golden eye of her necklace. "I don't want it to be my fault."

"It isn't, Malik," she assured him. "This is my decision. My item. There are worse ones I could possess."

Marik sighed but nodded. He left her embrace and went back to sit down, replacing the black, tattered book in the drawer. "Do you want me to help you with the new wards?"

Isis laughed sweetly. "No, no that's quite alright. Rishid and I can handle it. You do your homework," she teased, leaving with one last smile.

Malik found himself alone once again. He laced his fingers together propped them on the desk, leaning on them heavily. Marik would not be able to even attempt movement for a while, wherever he had disappeared to. They would have plenty of time to set up new wards.

He always wondered if he could use the rod on Marik, control him to never return. _But…_ he thought darkly. _Who would it take from me? And how?_

Malik decided not to ponder on it too far. He would never use the accursed thing again. Besides, Isis was right. There were worse items he could have possessed.

**XXX**

**AN: **And so I return! I say let there be sexual tension, and so there was.

So... Bakura playing around with Ryou. I dunno I just started writing it. I hope you liked it because it isn't going to stop anytime soon!

Malik-Plot introduced! Yes, Marik is obsessed with Malik and isn't he oh so creepy and stalkerish. And now we know about the millennium items. And Rishid is a spirit! And Isis has one and Malik has one and Ryou has one! I don't know if the others will come up or not but I decided to mention them just in case. Which one do you want?

I don't know if it was confusing or good or bad or what, but I bet you know how you could tell me. Review! Please? Also, thank you for the reviews I have recieved and the favorites and alerts and all that good stuff. It is very much appreciated.

As I am just sort of winging this right now, I don't mind if you all tell me what you'd like to see. More Ryou/Bakura seduction? More Malik angst? Marik/Malik past?Something else? Let me know. Thank you all and see you next time!


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